Letters to Their Past
by InventorOfFirebolt
Summary: Because sometimes the best way to just let it all out is through an angst-ridden, tear-splashed letter. Because words are the most powerful form of magic, after all. Battle tribute fic. Ch5: Luna to Colin.
1. Chapter 1

It's been five years, Fred.

Five years since I last saw your face mirroring mine. Five years I've lived—no, not lived. How I managed to pass the days…I wouldn't call it living. Five years I've dwelled in this world without you. Five years since I actually laughed, really laughed. Five years since I actually lived, truly lived. Five years since I actually felt like me, George Fabian Weasley.

Five years since the battle.

Five years since I've had you by my side.

Five years since I was whole.

They tried to get me out of it, you know. Everything they could think of, they did. It didn't work. They don't get it. They don't understand my pain. They don't know what it's like to be a twin. They don't know how it felt, to be ripped in two like that. I envy them.

I've considered other ways. They didn't work either. I couldn't just leave behind Angie and Mum and Dad and Ginny and everyone else. It doesn't work like that. I can't have Mum go through the pain of losing a son again. It'll break her. I despise myself for being so weak, Fred. I can't move on. I've fallen down and I can't get up. You must hate me too. I deserve it. I've let you and the rest of the family down. I don't deserve to be called a Weasley. I don't deserve to be called your twin.

I'm glad I'm the one who survived. I wouldn't ever want you to go through this hell. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been kinder if we weren't as close as we were, or if we weren't twins at all. What if we weren't even related? Then, you'd just be another face among the hundreds of others. Just another casualty of the war. Tragic, but not this kind of tragic—this kind that's eating my soul away, day by day. But then, I'd be turning my back on all the moments we shared—hell, I'd be turning my back on my entire life! So tell me this: would it be better to have lived a dull life than to never have lived at all?

And remember all those promises we made to each other? How we were each going to marry another ginger and have little ginger babies? How we'd grow old together and comb each other's beards? How we were going to go back to Hogwarts and train the next generation of troublemakers together with Peeves? How we promised each other that we _will_ keep each and every one of those promises? I can't do any of that now. There's no way I could ever put beetles in Bill's food without thinking of you. There's no way I can ever say half a sentence and wait for you to finish our train of thought. There is no way I can ever _live_ again. I _can't_! Us, we've never been one without the other. I don't know how to get on without you…

Never mind, never mind. Writing this has cleared my head a bit. This is actually the first time I've done something like this. Luna's suggestion. It always helped her when she wrote to her mother, and it's helped me now. No more moping around. I'm going to live a good life, die peacefully in my sleep, then meet you up there, in heaven. You take care of yourself in the meanwhile, all right?

I love you, Freddie. I miss you. One day we'll be together again, I promise.

* * *

George stared at the parchment on the table before him. His hand clenched. Something snapped. A vague voice in the back of his head told him that Percy will be furious when he sees the remains of his best quill, but he didn't care. Pouring out his heart like that brought memories he'd bury deep crashing back to the surface. The familiar black tide threatened to sweep over him again and bury what little positivity he had managed to muster. He could feel himself slipping away again, falling off the flimsy handhold he'd so lowly, so tediously chipped out for himself over the course of five years. The last fingers still clinging to hope were growing tired now. He could just fall into the abyss below. It would be so much easier to let go…

_No._

With Herculean effort, George dragged himself back over the ledge, with the waves of despair still roaring beneath him. He couldn't go back to that dark place again. He had to live now, for Fred. He had to, so that they could be reunited after death. So that he could keep his last promise.

* * *

**AN: Hello, people of the universe! This is a short ficlet, only five chapters long, all letters written to people who died either for Harry or for Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts. Since I'm just not good at Weasley angst, the next chapter can't be worse than this…if it is, tell me. Please. **

**~Gella**

**EDIT: reading this five seconds before I'm about to press the submit button, and realizing how bad it is ._.**


	2. Chapter 2

Hi Daddy, hi Mummy! Oh, by the way, Uncle Harry's helping me write this 'cause I don't know all my letters yet. Gran Dromeda helps me with them, and she says one day I'll be a really smart boy. She also says when I go to Hogwarts, if I work my hardest, I might become a prefect, like Daddy is. Really, I don't see anything wonderful about being a prefect. Uncle Percy was a prefect and he's my least favorite uncle and a git according to Uncles George and Ron. I don't know what that means, because Uncle Harry refuses to explain, but I can tell it's not anything good. Shh; Aunt Hermione will throw a fit if she finds out I've said that word. It can be our little secret. Me and Uncle Harry have loads of secrets. Now we have one too.

Grandmum Molly tells me lots of stories about you. Are you really a wolf, Daddy? And, Mummy, can you really turn your hair pink? You have to concentrate really hard, don't you? I've tried, but the easiest ones for me are brown—Grandmum says that's Daddy's hair color—and turquoise. Victoire doesn't like either of them. That makes me sad, because Vicky is my best friend. Her hair is boring though, it's always blonde. I think she's jealous. It's hard to tell, because she's only two and she doesn't do much besides gurgle at me.

Where are you, Daddy? I see Uncle Bill playing with Dommy and Vicky all the time, and Auntie Audrey and Auntie Hermione spend weekends knitting and doing other stuff. I don't really want you to knit (those sweaters they made are dreadfully ugly), Mummy, but why're you not here? Uncle Harry told me that you had to go away for a while, so you could make this world a better place for me to live in. But, it's already a great place here. I have Gran and Molly and Vicky and everyone else. I just want you back. I feel lonely sometimes, even when seeing Uncle Ron get yelled at from Auntie Hermione. You'll come back one day, won't you?

Oh no, Uncle Harry's starting to cry now. I guess I shouldn't talk about that anymore, because I don't want him to be sad. Oh yeah! Uncle Charlie brought back a dragon yesterday! I think his name is Norberta, but who would name a dragon that? It's a girl's name, and only boys are dragons. So I renamed him Norbert. Hagrid was here too, and kept asking if 'Norberta recognized his mum'. How is he Norbert's Mummy? You don't look anything like Hagrid, right, Mummy? Because that would be scary. Maybe he was trying to say that he's Norbert's Daddy. But not all daddies look like Hagrid, right? That would be scary too.

Gran gave me a necklace a long time ago. It's a crescent moon. She says you always wore it, Mummy. It's a bit old, but still beautiful. I keep it under my pillow. It's my good-luck charm too, and I never have nightmares when it's there. And if I ever do have a bad dream, it won't be too bad because I know I have you guys to protect me. Because you're _here_, in my heart.

I have to go now, Auntie Fleur's here with Vicky. I love you, Mummy. I love you, Daddy. I miss you. Please come back soon, okay?

* * *

Harry set down his quill and rolled the parchment up, trying his best to smile. Teddy noticed.

"What's wrong, Uncle Harry?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Erm—allergies, makes me cry—even if I'm not upset," Harry finished lamely.

"Okay. I'm going to play outside now," Teddy hopped off his stool, scampering out the door to meet Victoire.

"Teddy! Wait."

A now-blonde head turned. "Yes, Uncle?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "Your mum and dad were—_are_ wonderful, brave people. They loved you more than anything in the world. And," he added, holding his godson's gaze, "if they could wish for anything they wanted, it would've been a way to come back and be here with you. Never forget that."

Teddy nodded earnestly, wrapping Harry in a warm toddler hug. "I won't, Uncle Harry! I promise."

He turned and ran out the door. A second later Harry heard a crash and the bubbling laughter of baby Victoire. Fleur seemed to be gently scolding Teddy for something, and soon, three pairs of feet made their way to the apple orchard. It was only until then, that Harry allowed his tears to fall.

* * *

**AN: Wow, thank you guys so much for the support! I hadn't expected the story alerts, favorites, etc etc at all! I'm happy c: This is really short, because I just don't know how to put things that I want to write in the perspective of a four-year-old. Merlin forbid I should ever become a kindergarten teacher. I'd probably blow up three or four kids in the first hour. **

**~Gella**


	3. Chapter 3

Bellatrix. It's me, Cissy, your sister. Your least favorite sister. Don't lie, Bella. You've always preferred Andromeda over me. You liked her more when we were children, always saving the last biscuit in the pantry for her. You liked her more when we were at Hogwarts too. You helped her with her schoolwork and pretended to be off with Rodolphus when I looked for you. That day, when she left…I could tell it broke your heart as much as it broke mine. Maybe even more.

I didn't ask to be born, all right? I didn't ask to disrupt the perfect harmony you and Andromeda lived in before my birth. I knew you longed to go back to those days, when you and she can disappear into one of your hiding spots without a tag-a-long following you everywhere. I knew you saw me as a weak, vacant doll of a person and just as fragile. You didn't have to say it out loud, not that you ever would. You never showed any emotion, not at home, not at school. The few smiles you cracked where either forced ones, to Mother and Father, or genuine ones, towards Andi. Never at me.

But I loved you. I loved you and Andi enough to make up for the hate you seem to hold against me. You are my sisters, after all. You helped me dress when we were younger, because you were obliged to, as the elder. You helped me with my letters, because you were fed up with the fact that I couldn't read the notes you slipped to me under the dinner table. You helped me through my first heartbreak, because you couldn't stand my tears and maybe even out of compassion. Or pity. Or the fact that I allowed you to Crucio him later, I don't know. But you did do all those things.

Then…she ran away. Whatever warmth you once had, froze to ice. We were more distant than ever, but yet, closer. Because now, with Andi gone, you actually had to talk to me, look at me, and really look at me, not just a careless glance. You never did any of those things before. I'm horrible, Bella. I was so jealous of what you and Andromeda shared that I was glad to have her gone. I'm a horrible person and a worse sister. You put up with me, at first barely tolerating me, then gradually becoming less fiery. We were almost real sisters. I knew I was just a replacement for her, for Andromeda, but I was consumed with happiness. You cried sometimes, at nights when you think no one's awake. And no one was, except for me. I wanted to comfort you, but I knew that you'd only push me away and sever whatever thin bond we'd built up. I couldn't bear for that to happen, not when I'm finally happy for the first time in my life.

Why did this happen? Why couldn't we just live in peace as sisters and nothing more? Why did she have to fall for that boy? Why did _you_ have to fall for the Dark Lord? I just want to go back, back to our childhood, to have you and Andi by my side again. Is that really too much to ask for? Maybe you're turning up your nose at how pathetic I am, just as I was when we were small. Maybe you're more ashamed of your sisters than ever. But no matter what, Bella, no matter what you think about me, I love you. I miss you.

* * *

Narcissa rose and took out a box with dozens and dozens of other letters, sealed with either red wax with the letter _**A**_ or, as this one was, black wax with a _**B**_. Accumulated over the years, they were echoes of her childhood, the joy, the pain, the heart and soul of the last Black sister, imprinted and immortalized on paper. She will never send a single one. She will never write another one.

She shifted through them fondly, caressing the smooth, veined paper, smiling at the dates embossed upon it. The very first letter, in the back of the box, was the day she lost not one sister, but two—the day that Andromeda shed the name Black and renounced her family forever. The seal was red. The most recent one was from two days ago. That seal was also red. Narcissa moved backwards. Red, red, red, black, red, red, red, red, black, black, red.

She sat back, tears threatening to spill over. She hastily dashed them away; she'd never cried once in the presence of these memories, and she would not cry now. But it was with heartbreaking agony that she admitted to herself—she had slowly detached herself from Bellatrix in the older witch's last days. Almost guiltily, Narcissa placed the newly sealed envelope into the box. She took one last look and closed the lid with trembling hands.

"Goodbye," she whispered, before taking out her wand and setting fire to the box. The flames sprang up high and bright, burning the box easily. Burning away every last bit of the yellowed parchments, burning away nearly two decades' worth of love and hate, burning away every last connection Narcissa had to her beloved sisters and her past.

* * *

**AN: Tell me this sucked, tell me this sucked, tell me this sucked…**

**~Gella**


	4. Chapter 4

Hello, Professor. Do you remember me? You probably don't. I was that round-faced, fretful boy who came very close to failing your class every single year. Yet I didn't. I've always wondered why. Why, that every year, the owl would bring me the new shopping list and Potions books would still be required. Why, that when I was at my most nervous during exams and obviously bombed it, I still scraped a passing grade. A low one, to be sure, but a passing one. Why?

I came across some old records a few weeks ago, when I was cleaning Professor Slughorn's office (I lost a bet. I guess mandrakes really do bite). Faded red ink over even less coherent black marks; my clumsy handwriting under yours, all upon fragile, long-forgotten parchment. And there it was. The reason I continued to toil away in the dungeons for seven long years. It was you. You made it just so I barely grazed half a point above the required grade. Did you see promise in me? I bet you didn't; no one did, not even I myself. So, why?

I suppose you knew that everyone was terrified of you. You were their worst nightmare, the meanest old codger in their life. You were a git. To me, to Harry, to Ron, to Hermione, to anyone and everyone but the Slytherins. Is it strange, to have your death avenged by the one that you expected the least of? And I understand your hatred. It's because of her. Of Lily. If Voldemort had chosen my mother instead of Harry's, Lily Evans would still be alive. And I understand that. Lost love made you bitter. In turn, you unleashed that bitterness onto your students. You were a git, but you were also a great man, the bravest I've ever known. The lengths you were prepared to go to save Harry's mum—it blew me away. The person who showed the least amount of love turned out to be someone who could love the most. It's rather, brilliant, really.

I work here now, at Hogwarts, so you'll be seeing me around quite a bit. You might not know this, but Harry installed a portrait of you in the headmaster's office—well, it's Head_mistress_ Sprout's office now— and in the Gryffindor common room. I'll be sure to say hello if I see you. Of course, I can't say the same for you. But, thank you, Professor. Thank you for giving me another chance. Thank you for all you've done for the Wizarding World and beyond. Thank you.

* * *

Neville leaned back in his chair and examined his handiwork, ruefully glancing at the smudged ink and many crossed-out sentences. He shrugged to himself. It was simply for nostalgia's sake anyway, and in honor of the killing that occurred here, on this day, at Hogwarts, so many years ago. With a sigh, Professor Longbottom turned back to the stack of papers he was supposed to be grading—he was skiving off work more and more now, maybe it was time for a holiday. He resigned himself to yet another night of essays and diagrams when a silky voice spoke,

"Longbottom."

He stopped dead. Slowly, Neville glanced over his shoulder at the portrait on his office wall. It was usually one of Minerva McGonagall, the previous headmistress before Sprout, and who had passed away earlier this year. Now, however, instead of the revered witch's piercing green gaze, a pair of black eyes stared back. Neville swallowed. It was as if he was eleven years old again, with sweat sliding off his forehead in sheets as he gazed hopelessly at his smoldering cauldron. The portrait scowled with impatience.

"I _said_," Severus Snape repeated, "Longbottom."

Neville swallowed again and cleared his throat. "P-professor."

"Still as incompetent and tongue-tied as ever, I see," sighed the other.

"Yeah," Neville said, hesitantly meeting his former teacher's eyes. "Er, what made the sudden change…?"

"I heard that you were writing to me," he said crisply. "Might I hear it, perhaps?"

Neville flushed at his poor penmanship, but began reading anyway. There was a rather pregnant silence when he finished, and he found himself wiping his palms discreet down the side of his robes.

"Nothing's changed much, then," Snape said snidely. "I had hoped that becoming a professor and a Head of House would somehow streamline your rough edges, but apparently not. Your cloak is still clasped under your left ear, for starters, and you haven't lost a single ounce of your blubber."

"Thanks," Neville muttered.

"However," the dark, sallow man continued, "I was somewhat impressed with your slippery, graceful compliments. I haven't seen such a preposterous thing since Dumbledore and his lemon drops. As much as this pains me, I feel obliged to award Gryffindor a grudging five points for having such a slicked-tongued Head. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to. Rather like you, I've noticed," he said, pointedly eyeing the paperwork piled on Neville's desk.

"Oh, erm, right. Yeah." Neville was sure his face was aflame. But one more thing had to be said. "Professor! Wait!"

Snape poked his head from beyond the frame irately. "What is it _now_?"

"It's good to see you," Neville grinned. Snape paused, taken aback. His face twitched oddly.

"You too, Longbottom," he said finally. "And tuck your shirt in!"

With that he was gone, leaving behind an empty backdrop. Neville smiled to himself and sat down again. He hadn't lied. The cutting remarks and the hooked nose brought back memories of his school life. And while they themselves aren't the most inviting thing, he hung on to those memories, lest he lose them forever. He barely saw his friends anymore, as they were Aurors and he was a teacher, but those memories would always be there.

"Thank you," he whispered one last time. "Thank you for everything."

* * *

**AN: Gah, I just can't do Neville and/or Snape right. Writing only Marauder and Jily can have some drawbacks, I suppose. This is the second-to-last chapter, by the way. I hope the next one come out halfway decent…**

**~Gella**


	5. Chapter 5

Hello there. I'm Luna, Luna Lovegood. You probably don't recognize the name. I didn't yours either, until a few days ago, when I stumbled upon a monument in your name in the Room of Requirements. I sleepwalk, you see. It takes me to extraordinary places. You're Colin Creevey. I knew you once. You returned my shoes to me. After days of searching, I just found them in my dormitory with a note attached. There was a beautiful picture too: me, Ginny, and Neville down at the lake. I never really got around to thank you for that. And now I will never get the chance.

Yes, I definitely knew you. Always energetic, always kind-hearted and happy to help out. You did irk Harry quite a bit at one point. His exact words were some much more offensive, actually. But I guess he eventually took a liking to you. He made sure you were buried with your DA coin and a signed photo of himself. I don't think he'll ever give another autograph, or let anyone take another picture, or that matter. It'll remind him too much of you.

You were very brave, you know, sneaking back and fighting for Harry even though you were underage. You really were a true Gryffindor, with the loyalty of a Hufflepuff. I like Gryffindors, even if they can be a bit arrogant at times. I like Hufflepuffs too. Study has shown that they're least likely to fall prey to Wrackspurts. Nasty little creatures, those are. Makes your head go all fuzzy.

I know your brother, Dennis. He has stacks and stacks of all the pictures you took. I promised that I'd bring back the hide of a Crumple-Horned Snorkak for him to make a proper album. Normally, I wouldn't dare think about doing something like that, but that boy just looks so sad all the time. He brings your old camera everywhere. He really misses you. I would too, if I'd lost a brother. Sadly, my mum passed away when I was only nine, so I will never know. And I do miss her, lots, but the dead never truly leave us. Things we lose have a strange way of coming back to us, I tell him. I think he cheered up a bit after that.

Sleep well, Colin. I'll be sure to plant some Dirigible Plums here for you. It keeps the Nargles away.

* * *

Luna put down her crumpled eagle-feather quill and considered the parchment before her. She was in a small meadow, whose usual beauty was marred by the darkness and the shadow the gravestone cast across the grass and flowers. Silver moonshine illuminated the letters carved into the smooth rock. _Colin Creevey, 1981 – 1998._ Her nighttime wanderings had brought her here tonight, to his final resting place. An unexplainable impulse found her sprawled out in her pajamas, lines and lines of writing trailing behind her quill. She didn't know what it was, only that she was lucky to carry around spare parchment, quill, and ink around with her. Because she had a feeling that it was the right thing to do. She hadn't spoken to him in all their time at Hogwarts, so she spoke now.

Luna reached back and loosened her braid. Curly, dirty-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder. She took the cotton hair tie and wrapped around the scroll, knotting a pretty little bow. She set that on the mound. The war had taken countless people: students, family, lovers. As far as she knew, he might have been all three. She didn't know him beyond his name and their connection through Dumbledore's Army—a teenager's gang, teenagers who had taken on Voldemort when nobody else dared—but she knew him as a hero. Someone who had sacrificed himself in fighting for a better future, someone who had supported Harry Potter, their savior, from beginning to end. And those, Luna thought as she started for home, were all the reasons she needed.

* * *

**AN: Here you go, the last chapter! I want to thank Lady Elizabeth of New York for reviewing every single chapter and for her kind words, and all of you who subscribed, favorited, and most importantly, reviewed. So, thank you! I love you all! **

**~Gella having a slightly sentimental moment :') **


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